


set your flight path home (to me)

by starklystar



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Fluff, Flying, Getting Together, Idiots in Love, M/M, MIT Era, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-01
Updated: 2020-10-01
Packaged: 2021-03-10 02:08:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,973
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27576320
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starklystar/pseuds/starklystar
Summary: Tony puts down his welding torch. “I’m building you a plane.”Stepping carefully over the gears and tools scattered about, Rhodey slowly makes his way to him.“And when did you become an expert on how to build a plane?”“Last night,” Tony grins.---------------Tony builds a plane, and Rhodey teaches Tony how to fly it. Or he would be teaching Tony, if Tony didn't distract him so much.
Relationships: James "Rhodey" Rhodes/Tony Stark
Comments: 8
Kudos: 101





	set your flight path home (to me)

**Author's Note:**

> i somehow have a 7k+ rhodeytony fic in the works but this concept just wouldn't leave me alone so enjoy a bite sized serving of the world's smartest fools <3

The first time Tony asks, Rhodey tells him that flying is _freedom_. 

A motorbike ride is thrilling, Rhodey explains, but flying is beyond that: to have the world spread out below you and the stars of possibility glinting overhead.

No roads, no paths. Just the vast expanse of the world, the city lights blinking small, and it’s only you up there with wherever your heart desires to go.

There’s something to Rhodey’s smile - a glint of wistful longing - that echoes in Tony’s heart, richocheting there until it settles too deep for him to ignore.

Which is why they’re here now, in the MIT post-grad engineering labs, Tony with a welding helmet on and Rhodey with a frown, yelling over the noise.

“What’s this?”

Tony puts down his welding torch. “I’m building you a plane.”

Stepping carefully over the gears and tools scattered about, Rhodey slowly makes his way to him.

“And when did you become an expert on how to build a plane?” 

Did Rhodey really doubt him? “Last night,” Tony deadpans.

Well. More like the last three months as he very, very uncreepily stalked Rhodey’s plane preferences: speed, maneuverability, aesthetic, wing configuration, the whole bunch of it. The actual building process wasn’t that different from constructing a car or a missile – at least for Tony – and he’s nearly halfway through with forging the hull together, his semi useful bots speeding up the otherwise herculean task.

Because if Rhodey loved flying half as much as Tony loved _him_ , then Tony is damn well going to make sure he gets the best, _safest_ planes possible.

Rhodey gives him a look, clearly suspicious. He snatches the blueprint from the cluttered table nearby. “Give me a pencil.” DUM-E beeps happily, abandoning his post by the rear end of the plane, his claw handing Rhodey a wrench instead. “Thanks boy,” he pats the bot fondly, bending down to pick up a forgotten pen on the floor. “The bathroom’s too small.”

“That’s the standard size!” Tony protests, tamping down the warmth that comes with Rhodey’s excitement.

“You’re building _me_ a plane. And I say it’s too small.” Rhodey sketches some lines before waving the blueprint in Tony’s face. “Plus, I want extra legroom.”

Tony laughs, snatching the paper back from him. “The Air Force asked me to build something new, thought you’d like to have fun with it first.”

Again, more like Tony had pestered the Air Force into giving him a contract so that the top-quality planes Tony builds will be standard issue from now on, instead of the old junk filling up the Force’s hangars.

 _However_ , it’s better if Rhodey didn’t know that particular fact.

“Gimme,” Rhodey grins, unaware of Tony’s plight and reaching out for his own pair of welding gear. “And you’re not going to paint this baby a fire engine red.”

Something tugs at Tony, bright and burning over the gray clouds of his longing. He’s never been able to resist smiling back at Rhodey, and now isn’t any different. 

“What about a flashy gold?” he teases.

The pen flies at the back of his head. “It’s _my_ plane,” Rhodey possessively insists.

“It _will_ be your plane,” Tony argues, because it makes Rhodey laugh, “now, if you’ll stop interrupting me, I’ll be able to build it for you.”

“How about it’ll be _our_ plane?” Rhodey taps a knuckle against the half-finished titanium-plated hull. “And we can take her maiden voyage together.”

“Ours, like ninety percent mine and ten percent yours?”

“Like my bed might as well be your bed, given how often you forget where your room is.”

There’s something about that that’s too close to the truth that Tony wants: to wake up every morning surrounded by the soft humming of Rhodey’s singing in the shower or to fall asleep knowing he won’t be alone in the night, with Rhodey’s warm chest pressed against his cold back – and maybe even one day with Rhodey’s lips pressed between his shoulderblades.

But that’s a fantasy.

This plane that he can build with his own hands, this machine that he can’t ruin, is the best thing he can give Rhodey.

So, stomach churning and cheeks trying hard not to betray the strength of his _want_ , Tony flips a middle finger at his best friend. “You’ll miss me when I’m gone, Honeybear.”

He thinks he hears Rhodey mutter a rueful, “yeah, I will.” He’s pretty sure he’s wrong, though.

* * *

There are few times in life when Tony can say that he was truthfully nervous. Today, he’s nervous for primarily three reasons:

First, he’s strapped into the plane’s co-pilot seat right next to Rhodey – only the two of them in a cramped space for the foreseeable future. The Gulfstream _Joyride_ , as they’ve taken to name the plane, had indeed sacrificed some legroom for a sleekness which would help her cut through the skies, speed unmatched by any other plane.

Second, Rhodey has his hand wrapped around Tony’s to hold onto the console, directing him how to steer on the ground of the Stark private airstrip. Tony is one hundred and one percent sure that his hand is sweaty, pressed between the leather grip of the console and Rhodey’s steady fingers.

Third, no matter how many books Tony has read about how to fly a plane in the two months it took to complete assembling the _Joyride_ , nothing could have quite prepared him for _this_ : the hum of the machine around him, oddly familiar to a racecar but vastly different as he stares out the curved glass window, down the long runway.

And yet, Rhodey’s hand squeezes around his, forcing Tony to look up. He’s met with brown eyes turned gold in the early sunrise.

“Are you ready?”

“I was born ready,” Tony’s voice comes out only the slightest bit strangled.

Rhodey smirks, pulling their hands back towards their chests, the plane speeding up as the console directs it to. There’s a rumbling noise. He can feel them speeding up, faster, faster, _faster_ , the runway disappearing beneath the tip of the nose, and –

“You sure we don’t need helmets for this?” he yells.

But Rhodey whoops, there’s a sudden weightlessness, and they’re no longer staring down a dark tarmac as they start to tip up, wings lifting them towards the early sun.

Slowly, the pressure of Rhodey’s hand eases. A low buzz creeps up, first from Tony’s ears then all the way to his legs. _Holy shit._ Spread out below them are the sprawling green fields in the outskirts of Boston, houses dotting the landscape before the horizon tips sideway, Rhodey steering his own console to turn the plane towards the city then the harbor.

“Boston ground, this is _Joyride 0-0-1_ at 3500. Requesting flight heading 300,” he says into his mic, smirking at Tony all the while.

“Cleared,” the Air Traffic Controller’s voice crackles through the speakers.

“It’s clear blue skies from now on,” Rhodey flicks off the mic and toggles a few switches overhead, then activates the automated guidance system Tony had sneaked a rudimentary AI into. Hopefully, H.O.M.E.R. would always help guide the plane home if needed.

Squinting into the sunlight, Tony starts to understand what Rhodey meant by _freedom_. Cityscapes start to melt away into rolling seas, foamy waves cresting over them until the thin clouds block them from sight. Over the new sea of white, the horizon spreads endless before them.

“This is – wow,” Tony finds himself uncharacteristically speechless. All his earlier trepidation has bled out to this single buzz of _wonderexcitementpride_ because he’s done it. This bucket of bolts that he and Rhodey had crafted together, this was _theirs_ in all the ways Tony wanted it, in all the ways he needed it to be.

Silver and black paint streak the wings, and if Tony twists around far enough, he can see it glinting bright, almost like a wink as it buoys them in a heaven of their own. Plans pop up in Tony’s head: a sunset with the stars twinkling overhead would be _stunning_ , sort of like how they’d take a car out for a spin and have an impromptu picnic on its hood, staring at the skies filled with what ifs.

 _What if,_ Tony thinks of his hand, cold without Rhodey’s over it.

“Here,” Rhodey cuts through his thoughts.

When Tony turns, he sees a pair of aviators covering Rhodey’s eyes and a pair of matching ones offered to him. He reaches out to take them, but suddenly Rhodey’s fingers brush his temple, thumb hooking under Tony’s ear as he slides the aviators on.

Swallowing, Tony tries to come up with a witty reply, anything to cover up how he feels. Except, it’s really hard to think of much when Rhodey’s smile is so close Tony can nearly kiss it

“How do I look?” Tony manages to smile in the end. After all, now isn’t the time to wallow, and he’s doubly grateful that the sunglasses give him a measure of protection from the truth of his eyes. Maybe he’ll start using them more often, especially around the glares of cameras that can be more blinding than the sun.

The answer comes unexpected. “Handsome.”

It’s different from all the times Rhodey ever gave him a lopsided grin after hooting ‘ _hot damn, Tones_ ’, or all the times Tony had asked for help choosing between two suits and Rhodey pointed at the flashier one with the very logical reason of ‘ _don’t try to dim yourself down_ ’.

“You’re too kind, Platypus,” Tony tries to tease.

In the seat next to his, Rhodey looks away from him back towards the sky. “Nobody just builds a plane for a friend, Tony. If anything, _you’re_ too kind.”

Does Rhodey know the truth? Granted, Tony hadn’t managed to be so subtle with his affection, and Tony understands that he himself is quite a catch, but Rhodey has been sweet on others before: Carol who shared Rhodey’s devotion to the ideals of serving in the armed forces, Gregory who was several cousins removed from a royal family, and others Tony doesn’t want to think about because their names left a bitter taste.

He doesn’t have any choice except to say the truth that chokes him, words tumbling out of his tight throat. “You know I’d do almost anything for you, Rhodeybear.”

“Yeah?” Rhodey sounds almost hopeful. “Can I ask for just one more thing?”

“As long as you don’t ask me to land this plane, I think we’ll survive.”

The laugh Rhodey lets out sounds sweet, but it tastes even sweeter when it bursts against Tony’s lips, Rhodey’s hand returning to cup the curve of Tony’s jaw, brushing the stubble growing there. It moves up, fingers now tangling in Tony’s curls to pull him even closer between the distance of their seats, even as Tony too lays claim on Rhodey’s skin, fingertips digging into the back of Rhodey’s neck, his other hand fisted around the front of Rhodey’s shirt, the heartbeat there rapping against his knuckles.

When they pull apart, Rhodey sneaks in a second kiss on the tip of Tony’s nose, chuckling softly.

“Always wanted to do that,” he confesses to Tony, and it’s the final piece of the puzzle joining them together.

“ _Only_ that?” Tony feels the urge to _giggle_ , unable to figure out what to do with the fizziness bubbling all over.

Biting his bottom lip adorably, Rhodey shakes his head. “I don’t think this is the place to do the rest of what I want with you.”

“I’m designing a better plane,” Tony rises up to the challenge immediately. Then, more shyly, he adds. “I’ve got to introduce my boyfriend to the mile high club – that is, if you want.”

“Oh, trust me,” Rhodey kisses him again, slow and languid and indulgent, “I want.”

* * *

Flying, Tony finds out, is love. 

**Author's Note:**

> find me @starklysteve on tumblr :)


End file.
